Only Up
by Emullz
Summary: Ginny recounts her first broom ride... for Fanfiction Idol on the HPFC Forum. Not much else to explain... Western cause I'm unique and I don't know where else to put it... Ginny's not wearing cowboy boots or anything like that. I'm so tired, I think I'm getting delirious. I need to update this summary later, this doesn't sound very good.


Ron and I got sent out to the backyard, as usual, and the usual places had already been explored. Fred and George had zoomed off on the train with Charlie and Percy without us, and it seemed like without their antics, the school year would never end.

Looking back on it, I'd rather take four sets of OWLS than sit another year out at home while my brothers went to Hogwarts. It was probably the least fun I've had in a while, that one year without Ron.

But this year, I had Ron, and I'd been begging him to do one thing since the moment the train was out of sight- my second ever broom ride.

I'll bet you're wondering why I'm saying second- well, the first time, I was two, and it was an accident. I was trying to get to the cookie jar, and the thing zoomed out from under my feet, sending me flying and blood flying out of me.

Eight hours (or so I'm told), 6 crying spells by Mum and four vows to never let me ride a broom ever again later, I was supposedly fine, although I've got a pretty scar on my jawline to mark the spot where I hit the edge of the cauldron.

And that's why Ron flat out refused to let me on a broom. He'd seen enough of Mum's wrath to know that he didn't want to be on the receiving end. We all had, living with Fred and George. Even Bill learned to be a little more careful when Mum caught George with Charlie's wand, not even playing with it, just looking at it, and then hit the roof. I knew she was afraid of all the letters she'd get home.

So when I decided that I wasn't going to go look at the pond to try and find fish one last time until he unlocked the broom shed, Ron almost cried. I was the only one who could make him like that. I had my various ways, like insulting the Chudley Cannons, or standing on my tip-toes and slouching my shoulders in an exaggerated version of his walk.

Together we snuck into the kitchen, evading my mother and her legendary eyesight. I left Ron in the doorway, expecting him to be the one to knock over a pot, and grabbed the box that Mum kept her "Most Important Things" in.

"That one," I remember Ron saying, pointing to the rusty skeleton key that looked easily replicable. "That's the one she always pulls out. And you only want to look at the brooms, right? Just see what kind we have."

"Yeah," I told him, not even bothering to sell the lie. We got the shed opened, and winced at the squeaky door. I grabbed George's broom, tossed Ron Fred's, and awkwardly climbed on.

"Wait, you can't fly! Mum said you aren't allowed to!" Ron squeaked, and that was when I kicked off.

The feeling was exhilarating. I thought I could walk on the sun, the moment I took off. I gripped the handle like I had been doing it my whole life and made hairpin dives, swerved out of the way of the makeshift goal hoops Bill had made, and, at one point, flew straight at the sky.

I don't think I've ever felt so free in my entire life. There were no brothers to tie me down, not a single nagging voice about how I couldn't do this because I was a weak girl, or that I couldn't hear this because all girls are tattles.

Up in the air, you become a part of the sky, simply another cloud playing and making shapes in the sun.

That was the first time, in my entire existence, that I've ever felt free.

I don't think that it will ever matter to me, that I got caught and dragged out of the air by Mum, or that Fred made fun of me over Christmas break for doing just another stupid girl thing and failed, or that Bill shook his head when he heard and told me that I was too little and too clumsy to fly.

I was getting up in the sky again, I was feeling that feeling again. I wasn't going to loose any of what I had just received.

That's when the midnight practice started.

You wanted to know why I wanted to play professional Quidditch. It's a simple, eight word question. But, for me, that question turned into this.

I understand why you don't want me to play for your team. I could work well with men. With six brothers, I know how to deal with them.

But I've admired how you manage to still stay free and up in the air without them all my life. I don't think it matters if you're the best player in the entire world.

Without a love of flying, you won't go anywhere.

And my love of this game stretches to either end of the earth.

Sincerely,

Ginny Weasley.

I set my quill down and leaned back in my chair with a sigh. I knew I hadn't even come close to describing what it is that I feel when I play Quidditch. My love has only grown, since that time in the pasture when I was eight and I soared straight up to the sun.

It's only grown since I snuck out every night and played tag among the stars.

It's only grown since I stepped onto the carpet of grass of the Quidditch Pitch and took off at Madame Hooch's whistle, flying with far more grace and speed than anyone else in the air.

It's only grown since I tried out for replacement Seeker and unhappily filled the position, just to have an excuse to get up in the air.

It's only grown since I found my _other_ true love after playing the game, leading to the best months of my life.

I can only hope that it will continue to grow, because every time I kick off and soar into the air, I fleetingly remember that first broom ride, when I wanted to soar straight up into the sun and never come down.

When you're in the sky, the only way to go is up.

**AN:**

**Well, I need my sleep. Can y'all understand that? Do you want a longer AN than that?**

**Well too bad. Cause I'm too tired. *YAWNS* **

**~Emullz**


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